There in the Dark, We Find Our Innocence
by Silver Kitten
Summary: Tag for Something Wicked. Written because so many were expecting a nice hug between the brothers...plus I threw in some Dean angst. Thoughts appreciated, thanks.


**There in the Dark, We Find Our Innocence **

Author's note: Ya'know, the writer's of Supernatural beg me to write these tag scenes. Or, well, it'd be nice if they'd beg, lol. They are silently demanding it, though, I know that much. This is a tag for Something Wicked so there's definite spoilers. It takes place pretty much right where the episode left.

Disclaimer: You already know if I owned Supernatural- then Sam and Dean would have hugged in Something Wicked! So no, sadly, I own nothing…except my obsession for the show.

Warnings and otherwise: Rated for language. No slash, just a little brotherly humor and angst and fluff. Spoilers for Something Wicked.

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"_It's too bad."_

"_Nah they'll be fine."_

"_That's not what I meant. I meant Michael. He'll always know there are things out there in the dark. He'll never be the same, ya know? Sometimes, I wish that…"_

"_What?"_

"_I wish I **could** have that kind of innocence."_

"_If it means anything, sometimes, I wish you could, too…"_

It was more than sometimes. It was all the time. Sure, Dean knew that this hunt was all he could see himself doing. A hunter, aside from a brother, was the only other option for him left in the world, as all the others were robbed by smoke and flame and his mother's scream. And he knew that if he had a choice, he'd love to have Sam with him, all the time by his side kicking demon ass after demon ass. Still, that was the hunter in him. For the brother, it was more than a choice, but an obligation, that if it were possible to keep Sam's innocence in tact…it would be done.

Sometimes, the nightmares are real, and Dean woke up in one everyday.

Every mile, every motel, every fake credit card, every bullet, every near death experience- it was a surreal lie that they could keep this up forever- that this job could be a living. It wasn't a living. It was them surviving and helping others survive. Death was something they faced almost every day and in almost every way, but perhaps the worst tragedy for Dean was knowing that Sam was facing it right there with him.

Sam was sticking his neck out for Dean more and more, and although Dean sure as hell appreciated it, he also dwindled in guilt and silent suffering for the toll it was taking on his brother.

All Dean wanted was to be there for someone, like he wanted someone to be there for him all his life. But his father was never around long enough to realize what his absences caused his sons; what his crusade left as a void somewhere down the road for Sam and Dean.

Dean didn't want Sam to have that void anymore; he didn't want Sam to be alone even if Sam wanted to be left alone. Dean was obligated, and Dean had chosen long ago that he'd never be the one leaving, because he knew how much it hurt to be left. So Dean stayed with Sam, and it was never the other way around.

Sam could leave any day. He could give up on the hunt for Jessica's and their mother's killer before too long from now. He could walk out, and Dean could wake up one morning to nothing more than a post-it note stuck to what had been Sam's pillow with a short goodbye. No, he didn't believe Sam would be so cold, but it was the principal that scared him. Sam could leave him. And Sam planned on it.

It was a ticking time bomb. Every beat of Dean's heart was another tick-tock before Sam was gone for good; before his heart would be sliced through.

For Dean, emotions were always more complicated than ancient exorcism rituals written in languages only three percent of the world's population could translate. He tried translating his feelings before. They never quite worked well with him, and whenever he tried to express them he was like a painter without a brush.

Because his voice never fit words right, Dean liked to use the silence to communicate. He could smile with his eyes, tell secrets with his smiles, and he could cry without tears. He liked to hope Sam had learned to understand how he communicated. How the more silent he was after a serious situation, the more appreciative he was that Sam was okay. Or how the chattier he'd become, the more he really needed to say but didn't want to use words and hoped Sam could just guess. Most of the time, Sam probably understood.

Yet, as they drove away from the shtriga's feeding ground, and the silence overwhelmed them, each of them shuffled uncomfortably in their seats while lost in thought.

This car ride was different. This silence was new. And neither of them quite knew what to do with it.

"I wish the same for you, too, you know?" Sam said in a tiny whisper, and Dean was almost unsure if his brother spoke at all.

"What?"

"I wish you didn't have to know all of this. I wish you didn't have a reason to fear the dark…it's not fair."

Dean lightly gnawed on his tongue to keep the automated responses from flowing out. He didn't want a fight, he didn't want a chick-flick moment, he just wanted things to go back to that comfortable silence.

"Yeah, well…not much is fair, anymore, anyway," Dean answered shortly and Sam started to smile.

"One of these days, Dean, I'm going to crack you. I'm going to get you to talk to me, actually have a conversation that doesn't deal with monsters or demons or cars or girls."

At that, Dean laughed.

"What else is there to talk about, little brother?"

"What's your favorite animal?" Sam asked with a tone suggesting it was more than a question but a statement.

"You want to have a thirty-minute discussion about my favorite animal?" Dean raised an eyebrow and he grinned dryly. Sam rolled his eyes.

"No, see, that's just my point. I don't know what it is. Do you know what my favorite is?"

"Polkadot." Dean flashed a quick, proud smile, knowing the answer was obviously not correct and hoping to annoy his brother out of this conversation.

"I'm being serious, Dean." Sam sighed. "I just…I don't know so much about you. I thought I used to, but after finding out you had that secret between you and Dad…"

All expressions of humor drained from Dean's face as Sam spoke, and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"Come on, Sammy, it wasn't a secret. There was never a reason for you to know."

"And when I asked you about what happened all those years ago, you lied to me. You said nothing."

"And nothing did happen, you know why? Because you're still here, thanks to Dad."

Sam scoffed. "No, thanks to _you_."

And a line Dean didn't know was still there had been crossed, and something triggered inside of him, and suddenly he was applying the breaks and pulling up onto the shoulder of the quiet highway. Dean turned the ignition off.

"No, thanks to Dad. He's the…he's the one who…"

"What? If it weren't for Dad leaving us alone like that—"

"He had to, damn it! Why the hell can't you understand that?" And the foreign emotions in him were swimming to the surface, boiling just below his last nerve, and he-a bit more dramatically than he would have liked-pushed the car door open and stepped out, slamming it shut.

He paced around the front of the Impala, the early afternoon sunlight was cold against him for some reason and he shivered as unbidden memories latched onto every stream of his consciousness.

A few heartbeats and tick-tocks later, the passenger side door mimicked his own and Sam was around to where he stood.

"What's going on? Who are you mad at, here?"

"I'm mad at myself, Sam. I just can't think straight. Why won't you give Dad any credit?" Dean asked pleadingly, angrily although not angered so much at Sam as disappointed and confused.

Sam thought about his answer for a moment before speaking.

"He's not the one who has saved me time after time, day after day. It's always been you. And it's always been you because Dad's the one who throws us into these situations, by ourselves, instead of sticking with us. He expected way too much from you then, and expects even more out of you now," Sam explained, his own anger heating up the air around them.

Dean widened his eyes.

"He expects what should be expected. I'm responsible for you, you little shit! And I accepted that responsibility fully knowing what would be expected of me. And maybe…maybe you don't expect _enough_ from me."

"I don't even know how to respond to that, right now, Dean. Look, I told you before that I get why you follow Dad's orders, why you do it…what I _don't_ get is why you allow him complete dictatorship over you. It's one thing to follow him; it's another thing to be _dragged_…"

Dean's reaction was promptly shoving his younger brother backwards. Sam stumbled a few steps but didn't retaliate. Sam couldn't retaliate because of the tears he saw gleaming in his brother's eyes, shining with a furious grief.

"I follow him because I feel like I owe him!" And again, Dean stepped forward and pushed Sam back again, but Sam just held his ground. "I owe him because if it wasn't for him, you'd be _dead_!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"That shtriga, that night years ago…Dad's the one who fired at it but I had a fucking gun! I was aiming for it," Dean took in a sharp breath that pricked at his tightening throat. "I stared right at it as it was attacking you, stealing your life—and I just fucking stared at it…I never pulled the _trigger_," a quickly hushed sob hitched behind his words. "I _never_ pulled the trigger to try and save you…If Dad didn't arrive at that very moment, then you'd…you'd be dead and it's my fault you almost died."

Dean's tears were violently close to falling, and Sam worried most that if Dean cried, he'd cry, too…and if both of them cried, they'd each be screwed.

"Dean," Sam didn't know what to say. Dean was wrong. It wasn't his fault because he was only a child, a terrified child. And Sam knew he was wrong and knew reasons why, but he couldn't explain them because Dean would never understand. And Sam couldn't apologize because you can't apologize for someone's opinion.

"That shtriga didn't almost kill you. _I did_…" Dean finally said, and a solitary tear slid down his cheek. And even though Sam's chest hurt from Dean's harsh but held-back shoves, even though Sam had his own sad memories to fall over and grieve, even though seeing his brother breaking in front of him was killing him—he knew he couldn't cry. So he bit back tears of his own, and stared at his brother for a long moment.

Dean was waiting for Sam to hit him, to push back, to kick, to yell, and what would hurt the worst but also be deserving: to hate him. He was prepared to take it, too…all of it, in some kind of blind, masochistic manner because he deserved to hurt; he deserved to feel this pain, because Sam almost died because he couldn't pull that trigger. He was waiting for something hurtful, hoping for something damaging, but what he got was entirely unexpected.

Sam stared, watched the tears building crystal fortresses in Dean's eyes that he hoped not to see crumble. Suddenly, without concern that he might get shoved away- and harder- this time, he grabbed Dean with both arms and pulled him close, hugging him completely. And Dean relented, after a moment's hesitation and utter confusion, and he allowed himself the comfort of his little brother's embrace. He threw his own arms gently around Sam, and they hugged so tightly their breaths came in unison.

Instantly, Dean's tears vanished, leaving glistening remnants, and instead of crying silently, there was a smile reflecting somewhere in his eyes. And luckily, Sam didn't need to see it to know it was there. Still, Sam wanted to help, and thought maybe a little humor would do the trick to chase these negative thoughts away from Dean.

"One thing I'll never question…is that Dad always left me with you when he went away for a reason."

"What's that?"

"He knows you'd do anything in your power, anything in your control, to protect me. We all make mistakes. And Dad's a prime example of someone who has made plenty of mistakes—if not in hunting, then in other things. My point is that…I don't believe for a moment that he hated you for what happened, or that he was angry. I think he was just scared…and we all get scared. No matter who we are, no matter how old we are."

The words were comforting at best, and appeared true enough for Dean to accept, even if he'd always still feel some level of guilt.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I'm the little brother, remember? I'm _always_ right."

And they shared a small laugh.

Words can't mend everything, apologies can't fix the past, and as they both knew, sometimes life just plain sucked. There was sadly little either one could do to patch up the other brother completely, but they were each other's greatest band-aid.

Sometimes, silence was enough. And other times, a hug could say more than any words could ever hope to speak.

After parting, both of them languished in that comfortable silence that was familiar again. Seconds turned into minutes as they both leaned against the Impala, pondering the great oddities of their family relationship. A bit of the air had been cleared, but there was still much more clearing to do. Somehow, they were content to know they had a while to do so, even if it meant putting more miles on the '67 Chevy.

"Tigers," Dean spoke so quickly that Sam was startled. Sam tilted his head and looked up towards the sky as if a logical reason for why Dean just said what he said might be found floating above. "Tigers are my favorite animal."

Sam smiled as he realized Dean answered his question.

"Good to know."

Dean lifted himself off the car and reached for the door. Sam exhaled slowly and then retreated to the passenger side. They looked at each other for a moment over the top of the Impala.

"So, uh…how about we find a place to eat. I'll let you buy me lunch. Or rather, Mr. Bikini Inspector can," Dean smirked, and then slid below the surface of the Impala before Sam could react.

Sam shook his head and laughed to himself before joining Dean in the car.

"_I wish I **could** have that kind of innocence."_

"_If it means anything, sometimes, I wish you could, too…"_

It meant more than anything, to Sam. It meant everything. Much like they meant everything to each other, although they'd rarely accomplish putting such heartfelt language into words. For now, their silence, and a hug every now and then, would have to suffice. Just for now, until they found their voices.

Even if neither of them could return to such innocence, whatever they found there in the dark, they knew one thing each of them could always find no matter what: their brother.

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**The End**

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_Thanks so much for reading. Any comments appreciated, feedback, criticism, threats (so long as they're idle), requests, complaints...all are welcome. Oh, little personal trivia: I chose "tiger" for Dean's favorite animal because in the pilot he refers to Sam as one. I believe he said "Easy, Tiger." So…that was my little allusion to that. I hope this was enjoyable._

_Silver Kitten_


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